Authors: Emma Jane Holloway
Outside, half the streetlights were still broken, but the few that were lit showed the fog curling through the streets on cat feet. With meditative weariness he filled his pipe with shag tobacco, then lit it, puffing smoke in meditative gusts to create his own indoor London Particular.
Despite the hour, there was a light step on the stairs, and he hurried to open the study door. “Evelina.”
She stood with her head slightly bowed. “Uncle Sherlock?”
He’d anticipated this visit. A wave of sadness tugged at him, and he turned away, sweeping his hand toward the room. “Pray, come in. No doubt you have come to tell me that you are running away with pirates.”
She entered, every footfall hesitant. She was plainly dressed now, her hair tied back with a velvet ribbon. It made her look younger. “We are married. It’s not quite the same thing.”
“I do seem to recall a ceremony.” He should, since he’d given her away. “And now you begin work for the prince?”
“It’s as good a way as any to see the world.” She gave a sly smile. “You’d probably enjoy it.”
He’d already had to stifle that particular stab of envy.
That is youth, leaving the rest of us behind
. He waved an arm in mock drama. “Send me postcards.”
“Uncle!”
“A sentient ship and a dozen scallywags are sure to find some adventure.” Holmes fell into his basket chair, stretching out his legs. Everything in the room was comfortable and familiar—his racks of chemicals, the chaos of his desk, Watson’s walking stick leaning against the door.
And Evelina. He hadn’t intended to enjoy his role of guardian, but he’d grown used to seeing her there, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give her up. “You are quite resigned to leaving college?”
Embarrassment reddened her cheeks. “I’m afraid they expelled me.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “Too many explosions will do that.”
She shuddered faintly. “Among other transgressions. I believe there were assignments long overdue. At least I won’t have to write that essay about Tacitus.”
“And thus your academic career ends in tatters. I can’t say that I’m sorry to see you leave that place. No one has heard from Professor Moriarty, but I imagine that it is only a matter of time before he shows himself once more.” Holmes searched for words, not liking any he found. Time was slipping through his fingers. Hadn’t she just been presented to the queen? “When will you be back?”
She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure. For Imogen’s wedding, certainly. I trust you’ll make time for a visit then?”
He hid a smile behind his pipe. “I might allow myself to be imposed upon, providing that I am not in the middle of a case. However, I think you owe your grandmother a visit. She is beside herself that you married in such haste and has naturally put the worst interpretation on the matter.”
“Really!”
“Perhaps I should introduce your Niccolo to your grandmamma?”
Holmes said with malicious intent. “Arrange for a pleasant luncheon?”
“Don’t you dare!” Her eyes widened in mock horror. “No man deserves that! The last time she grew upset over lunch she threatened you with a pickle fork.”
“Make it tea, then, with no cutlery.” He allowed himself a chuckle, but stopped as her expression grew serious. “What is it?”
She twisted her hands in her lap, a restless gesture he knew well. “Uncle, whenever you and I have these discussions, there are always unanswered questions. Are there any threads left dangling this time?”
If she was asking that, then things hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought. Suddenly, everything seemed better. “Of course there are, my girl. Loose threads are the very essence of life.”
She made an encouraging gesture. “Anything specific?”
Holmes considered. Despite his yearning to keep her close, there was nothing he wanted to share. For now, their roads led away from one another. “You, my dear, are about to leave on the adventure of your life. Go, and be joyful. Leave the dangling threads for me.”
Evelina’s mouth quirked. “Thank you.”
“Whatever for?”
“If I tried to list it all I would be here until dawn.”
“Then please do not attempt it,” he said briskly, dodging an uncharacteristic urge to wax sentimental. “I have to finish this pipe and ponder a small matter that has caught my attention.”
Quick as always to read his mood, Evelina rose. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.
“Go, my girl,” he said irritably.
With her customary grace, Evelina quietly turned and left before the ache in his throat could betray him.
A cab had been waiting for her. He guessed this was her last stop before boarding the airship, and she would be gone by morning. For an instant he thought about his sister, Marianne, and wondered what she would have made of her extraordinary girl.
And then Holmes lit his pipe once more. The smoke curled around him as he let his mind drift, sliding over new problems with a connoisseur’s sure touch. The dragon had died and the underworld was restless. In the last few days, rumors of a new king had sprouted up like the first breath of spring—one that was young and filled with new ideas. It was startling news, and the fact that Holmes had learned it at all was significant. The Black Kingdom had always kept its distance from the world aboveground. Few knew exactly what dwelt below.
He had a disturbing notion that wouldn’t be the case anymore.
The Baskerville Affair would never have unfolded without the encouragement (and brilliance) of my agent, Sally Harding, and the patience, conviction, and edit letters of the indefatigable Anne Groell. Anne has read these manuscripts through more often than any human being should ever be asked to and still answers my emails, which says everything about her pending sainthood. Thank you, ladies; this airship would never have flown without you.
I do, however, extend apologies to the nineteenth century and that dog of Arthur Conan Doyle’s.
B
Y
E
MMA
J
ANE
H
OLLOWAY
A Study in Silks
A Study in Darkness
A Study in Ashes